Love Unbound
by yearofvolitaire
Summary: A dateless retelling of the original Erik falls in love with a poor, orphaned Christine. Will they find happiness together or is each doomed to thier own loneliness? Horrible at summaries, is better then it sounds.Rated T for mild language. RR!
1. Amour non lie

**Ah! My first ever serious phanfic (there's something irritating about that word) It's a first attempt, so… (By the way, I don't own PotO or the movie**_** Swing Time, or Singing in the Rain.**_**---------**

"_It's swing time, oh…,"_

The ghostly voices of the old movie filled the dark room and bounced repeatedly off the dusty walls. The man sitting alert in the chair at the center of the room shut his eyes as another blinding wave of light from the projector screen washed over his face and burned his eyes, so unaccustomed to light. His acute hearing detected the sounds of the theatre below; giggling chorus girls; bawdy stage hands; and all manners of people wandering about on a Sunday night. He cracked his knuckles anxiously and flicked off the projector. The man dressed completely in black leisurely exited the lonely room.

_Soon…_

_--------_

"_I'm singing in the rain, dad a da, I don't know the wo-rds!,"_ clamored a loud young man, his long hair bobbing. He smiled appreciatively and bowed to the delight of his somewhat captive audience, consisting of all the young people whose parents couldn't find the time to pick them up.

"Gosh, Raoul, it's like you're Gene Kelly himself," giggled a blonde who was sitting on an overturned box, entwined in the arms of another boy.

"Stop flirting with her, Goldilocks," he snorted.

"Pff, shut up Harry," complained several of the girls who found Raoul to be a handsome subject.

"Will you all shut up?" shouted a group of boys gathered near the wall.

Most of the crowd joined the group and pressed their ears against the wall.

"I don't care what _he_ says, that's ridiculous! I won't stand for it, damnit!" bellowed a man's voice.

"Derrick, quiet! If he hears you…,"

"Oh, he'll hear me alright! They all will! Come, now!" raged the other voice, drowning out the other, timid man.

The crowd of people listening in immediately separated themselves from the wall and raced to occupy themselves as they heard booming footsteps traveling towards their room. The door swung open with a loud bang.

"Listen up, now!" fumed the taller manager, his moustache turned up in a slightly comical way. "Which one of you scoundrels wrote this? I swear, fess up NOW!" he thundered as he brandished a letter, sending his smaller companion cringing into the room with the accused as he stood in the doorway.

"Well, we can't very well confess if we don't even know the letter," quipped a girl in the back. No one dared laugh at the large man blocking their only exit.

"I-,"

A thunderous crash covered his words; there were screams and shouts, and the sound of breaking glass coming from the direction of the main auditorium.

The two managers blanched white, and darted out to the source of the new panic, the group close on their heels.

The shorter one moaned and put a hand over his agape mouth at the devastating sight.

There, laying smashed, cracked, and utterly destroyed beyond repair, was the inordinately expensive crystal chandelier, the first-and likely to be only- gift of the theatre's gracious patron. Exactly thirty three hundred perfectly oval crystals lay smashed and broken, strewn in shards about the floor. The glass cruelly reflected the twisted images of the theatre.

Sadiron, the intimidating manager, was utterly and eerily silent. But soon, his silence became more frightening as he turned many shades of red, looking more and more like an enraged bull by the second. Madoin, the other, crouched closer to the ground so that he might somehow melt into it and away from his partner (not that this had ever happened before, though he _had_ tried). -----

The man in the rafters clapped his gloved hands quietly and watched the entertaining attempt of Sadiron to maim Madoin, as if this had been the puny little manager's fault. He laughed to himself as the lights gradually shut off and the crowd of people gently died away, the horrid mess of wreckage to be cleaned the next morning. His stone cold eyes swept over the empty and drafty auditorium with cool calculation of the disaster.

But something stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks; there _was_ still someone below, drifting about the darkened stage with only a solitary candle to guide them. A girl, dressed in a long, white nightgown wandered around the lonely first floor, looking about her as if she had never seen the place previous.

To the statue still man watching her from the balcony level now, she seemed almost like a ghost, her pale brown hair floating about her shoulders in waves. He sighed painfully, for he thought her beautiful; he did not recall ever considering something beautiful, at least not in a very long time…

The man remained, still stunned and standing in the same place, long after the girl had left. Something touched him that night; _something_ that he was quite unfamiliar with. And it was that something, the new found compassion, that convinced him that night that one day, he would make her his own.

**Please review and don't hesitate to remark that the manager's name means pointed (and dangerous) iron. Adieu-Volitaire**


	2. Tangible Danger

_The mysterious man stood in his hiding place, watching from his bird's eye view of the stage at the quaint little drama he knew that would soon be unfolding around this very theatre soon. He smiled at the possibilities of this his greatest and final artistic work. He also smiled at the shy girl sitting among the other dancers who was trying to make herself unnoticeable, and at the way she continued to shift about in her seat. _

_"What's this?" he said to himself as he watched a young man look in her direction. He sighed angrily and told himself to wait. _

_"Always waiting," he mumbled as he descended back into the familiar shadows. Fingering a small shard of crystal that had until recently been suspended many feet above the theatre, he disappeared entirely from the upper balcony with a sigh._

_"Diane…,"_

Diane's POV

I sighed and breathed in the smell of wood that permeated the theatre. Madame Giry was chatting quietly with some men come to preview the ballet. We dancers were sitting in the front row seats, waiting for their tiresome conversation to end so we could get back to rehearsal. Most of the attention was on the three boys who were involved as dancers in this act.

One of them, Raoul, smiled sheepishly at me from across the group of people and I squirmed in my seat and avoided his eyes. It was a commonly held opinion that Raoul was an exceptionally handsome young man. Rich too, though I don't think that was ever why I was smitten with him. For some reason, his parents tired of him, thus explaining his life here in a nearly bankrupt playhouse, so I suppose I felt a connection to him in that way. But even when I got the wanted attention from him, I had to turn away.

"Ah, everyone up. Back to practice," snapped the Madame as she reminded herself that she had a class to teach. Meg came from behind me and tapped my shoulder, shocking me out of my trance.

"Come on, you heard Mama. Besides, Raoul is already by the stage," she giggled mischievously. I gasped; was it that obvious, what I felt? She ushered me along and we took our places on the vast stage.

"Hmm, fourth position, girls," Madame Giry barked as the last of the dancers reached the stage. We all immediately snapped into a flurry of movement as we rehearsed for the recent masterpiece, _Amour non lié. _I had just bent down into my crouch for the last part and was waiting for the cue from Meg when I heard Madame cry out. Meg, who had been balanced besides me, rushed to her Mother's side.

"What is it, Mama?" she asked again and again.

" I-It is nothing! Practice is over. Leave, all of you," her mother managed to croak out as she shoved something into her pocket.

Everyone exchanged glances as we trooped dutifully away from the still shocked Madame Giry. She eyed me for quiet some time as we disappeared around the corner.

"Meg, what was that about?" I asked my friend as I caught up with her.

"I-I don't know. But she was holding something. It-I think it had your name on it, Diane," she told me, fear for her mother written across her face.

Before I could reply, the hallway split and I went down the corridor to my dorm, and she to hers. I felt sick after that strangeness and stayed in my room alone, reading and watching the hands of the old clock move round. My mother's picture continued to stare back at me from the small window desk and I continued to feel sick. I have never stopped thinking of her or, unfortunately, my father. Silent tears slid down my face with increasing frequency. I sighed deeply and turned over onto my side, hugging a pillow to me and blowing out the solitary candle.

I sat up; something-some_one_ had just sighed with me. I froze and peered hopelessly into the thick darkness. Someone was mourning there, in that very room, with me, and that somehow made me even more miserable.

"Diane? Come here. I need to talk to you," said the voice of Madame Giry from out in the hall.

"Did you just sigh?" I demanded as I went to the door.

"It is imperative we talk. But say nothing until I tell you to do so," she said mysteriously. She grabbed my arm, gently but insistently, and we made our way down dark hallways that fill old theatres. She did not stop once, not even when I resisted and begged her to listen to me.

"What are you talking about?" I pleaded as she dragged me back along the darkened halls.

"Come, be quiet! He's bound to here us now," she murmured, eyes darting along the walls.

"Who? I don't understand!" I protested as she finally found an empty room. Lighting a candle on the side of the door, she pulled me into the dusty room.

"We must talk. Now, Diane, while there is still time," Madame Giry panted.

"Time for what? I'm afraid I don't quiet understand, Madame," I gasped still trying to pull away.

"Time to save you," she sighed loudly.

"What?" I asked incredulously. I was about to dart to the door when she reached out and took my wrist again.

"There is time, still. Here," she reached into her dress pocket and handed me a rose. For a second, I hoped it was from Raoul, but I quickly convinced myself that it was not true. The flower was blood red, and a small card hung on a ribbon tied to the clean stem. Inside, my name was written in neat, elegant writing.

"But who is this from, Madame? I still don't understand,"

She gave me a look of utter sorrow and grimly took my hands.

"He who lives in the walls, who lives in and controls this entire theatre. Diane, listen to me: he has already convinced himself of you, of your feelings. It is not wise for you to stay here, not while he is so smitten with you. The rose was only a sign; soon, he will come and take you away, possibly forever. Most certainly forever,"

She dropped my hands and studied my reaction. I was still confused, she could tell.

"Just promise me you will remain careful. Do not do anything to anger him or tempt him, though that will be hard,"

She sighed once more, all too clearly seeing the imminent scene in the final act of our strange friend's play.

I watched as she removed the ribbon from the rose and tied it delicately in my long hair.

"To show him your allegiance," she explained as we left the back room.

I now wondered only of her allegiance, and also of the foreboding signs that surely meant a tangible disaster.


End file.
